


No one here wants to fight me like you do

by thought



Series: Help I'm Alive [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate Universe
Genre: Grief/Mourning, John Sheppard's most meaningful relationship is with a flying city, M/M, Math, Unreliable Narrator, nobody here has ever experienced a single feeling ever in their lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: "So," Sheppard says. "Should we... talk about this?""Absolutely fucking not," Rush says.





	No one here wants to fight me like you do

**Author's Note:**

> This is very handwavy it terms of timelines, but it takes place post-S5 of Atlantis and pre-S1 of Universe.  
> This was also all written in one go at midnight, so I apologize for any glaring errors. I also apologize for the mix of third person limited and third person omniscient, I swear I thought it was necessary at the time.

"So," Sheppard says, trying to finger-comb his hair from 'just got laid' to 'Military but totally still hip and happening' in the bathroom mirror of his generic SGC guest quarters. "Should we... talk about this?"

"Absolutely fucking not," Rush says. He's sitting on the bed and has pulled out a laptop from, as far as Sheppard can tell, thin air. He doesn’t look like he'll be moving any time soon.

"Perfect," Sheppard says. Teyla had told him he needed to be more open and communicative about his feelings, so he'd spent six weeks drilling himself on a series of open and communicative phrases like "Should we talk?" and "I like spending time with you" and "I feel sad today." He's pretty excited to rub this in her face when he gets back to Atlantis.

*

The first time they meet, Sheppard is going into a briefing just as Rush as leaving. Rush, having transcended the state of unbearable migraine and landed somewhere in the realm of disembodied floating consciousness fueled only by spite and his self-perceived dignity, is experiencing significant enough sensory-to-motor function lag that he practically walks face first into Sheppard, sending Sheppard's notebook to the floor and almost slopping his own cold coffee over both of them.

Rush's first subconscious instinct is to lash out, the first 18 years of his life having quite literally beat the lesson into him that if somebody comes at you you'd better be ready to come back just as hard and twice as fast, preferably with knife. Sheppard's first instinct, woven into his automatic reflexes before he was old enough to talk, is to apologize, even if it's not his fault, smile, introduce himself, and hopefully obtain a business card from his new acquaintance so he can appropriately judge the value of maintaining the relationship beyond the immediate. Naturally, given that Sheppard is, on paper, a member of the American military (the SGC still aggressively pretending the words 'independent colony' have never crossed anyone's mind in relation to Atlantis) he quashes his instinctive courtesy near instantly, shifting into wary defense. Meanwhile, Rush, having spent twenty years surviving on the good graces of various funding committees and university HR departments, and additionally, spending a reasonable amount of his life fashionably drunk on Gloria's arm while wealthy socialites and pretentious art students wax lyrical about music they could never hope to truly appreciate, forces down his fight-or-flight response in favour of his best attempt at an apologetic smile. He's aware it's awful. He's working on it.

"Sorry about that," says Sheppard, smiling so wide it almost distracts from the hand resting near his sidearm.

"My fault," Rush says, unaware of how disturbingly rehearsed it comes out, and crouches to retrieve Sheppard’s notebook because it's less embarrassing than collapsing in his own vomit as his head raises further objections to the jarring halt.

The notebook has fallen open, and Rush doesn't even pretend not to be reading the contents of the page. "Is this yours?" he asks.

"Given that it fell out of my hand, I'm gonna say it's a safe bet,” Sheppard says, holding out said hand pointedly.

"In general," Rush says, "I'm given to understand that joining the military to pay for post-secondary includes a step where you then leave the military."

"I didn't need the military to pay for school," Sheppard says, and then, seeing what Rush is reading, "Oh, that's just a stupid dare my friend gave me. He said I couldn't solve it by tonight."

"Obviously you can," Rush says. "Not much of a dare.”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sheppard says, realizing only after he's opened his mouth that he's not sure how to make that not sarcastic.

Rush snorts, then pulls a pen from behind his ear. Sheppard spends a good thirty seconds trying to figure out how it had been held there, during which time Rush finishes scribbling something on the next blank page in the notebook.

“There," he says. "Now it's actually a challenge."

"Hey," says Sheppard, more because it's the expected thing than because he really cares if this random civilian defaces his notebook.

Rush hands the notebook back and the pen vanishes back behind his ear or possibly into his hair somehow.

"you’re going to be late," Rush says, because the nervous young Airman poking his head out of the now-mostly-closed conference room doors looks like he's about to have an aneurism.

Sheppard shrugs. "Well, sorry again."

"Mmhm," Rush says.

Sheppard says, "Are you planning to get off the floor?"

"Obviously," Rush says, not moving. Sheppard nods slowly.

"Ok," he says. "Bye."

Rush doesn't respond. Sheppard turns away. Rush is debating the wisdom of drinking the rest of his coffee, and also wondering if there might be an observer-effect-style intent-based component to dialing a nine-chevron gate address.

*

"It's like having a soul mate," Sheppard says. "Who also happens to be a computer. And live in your brain. And sometimes she's part of me and sometimes I'm part of the city. If you ever have the opportunity to know what it feels like to have hallways instead of arms, don't."

Rush wants to go to Atlantis immediately, but between McKay and the city herself it feels uncomfortably like meeting the parents. Or some equally meaningful but less incestuous simile.

"Careful, you're like to make me jealous," Rush says, and then immediately wishes he hadn't.

"aww, don't worry," Sheppard coos. "There's enough of me to go around."

Rush huffs a breath into the pillow. "Never said I was talking about you."

"I know," says Sheppard. "Don't lose hope, maybe my thing for older men has rubbed off on Atlantis."

"Get out," rush says, flatly. Sheppard burrows deeper under the blanket.

"Just imagine, if I'd stayed in academia I could have been one of your students. Think I would've been able to get extra credit, professor?"

Rush's entire fucking soul recoils out of his body. "I will kick you out," he warns. "Christ, I'm going to have nightmares."

Sheppard rolls his eyes. "You try to add a little spice into the relationship and all you get is judgement."

"Were you considering Berkley?" Rush asks, to redirect Sheppard from the panic of accidentally using the r-word in a situation where it's not applicable.

"In the whole 36 hours I spent considering a PHD, yes," says Shepard. "And then I remembered I don't hate myself."

"Debatable," says Rush.

Sheppard kicks him. Rush says, "Go the fuck to sleep if you're staying," because apparently neither of them can be trusted with words.

Sheppard squirms over until he's folded himself into the little spoon. Rush decides things will probably be more manageable after a couple hours sleep.

*

Rush is walking briskly through one of the research levels of the SGC, working off the energy he's not been allowed to use on breaking David’s nose. Mandy is probably waiting for him, but she's also developed a predictive text generator that can mimic one of Rush's 'fuck David Telford and everything he stands for, I'm giving back my friendship bracelet' rants (her words, not his) with humiliating accuracy.

He hears Sheppard's voice coming from one of the labs up ahead, and has a brief moment where he's concerned he's hit the hallucinatory stage of sleep deprivation, because there's no reason for Sheppard to be on Earth at the moment. Luckily, when he looks into the lab, Sheppard is there along with a couple Marines and a group of excited scientists.

"We're predicting," one of the scientists says, "that someone with a strong expression of the ATA gene, like you, Colonel, will be able to not only activate the device but connect it with any computer system you come across, no matter who designed it."

"Sounds useful," Sheppard says, laconic indulgence in full effect.

Rush wanders closer, and tilts one of the monitors of code towards himself so he can take a look. Sheppard nods to him slightly in greeting.

"So," Sheppard says. "Explain to me again how it's going to build the predictive database?"

Rush wonders if Atlantis' AI is driving Sheppard's interest in machine learning. Another of the scientists starts explaining, and Sheppard makes polite humming noises, mask of bored incomprehension firmly in place.

"Oh stop," Rush says, sharply. "You don't need this explained to you, Sheppard. Look at the fucking code if you're that paranoid, but don't waste these people's time in some idiotic macho act to reassure your grunts that you're appropriately mindless. And if it's some sort of ploy to make people under-estimate you, the damage has already been done. Most everyone's terrified of you."

"Hello to you too," Sheppard says, mildly.

"Oh fuck off," Rush says, bristling under the patronizing tone.

"How's Colonel Telford?" Sheppard asks. Rush leaves.

That night Rush fucks Sheppard deep and slow and relentless, icy fingertips pressing deliberate bruises into his hips, rambling under his breath into the back of Sheppard's neck.

"Would never let you get away with that bullshit if you were on my team," he says, shakily. "Would make you use all of your skills, force you to prove to everyone and yourself how fucking clever you are. Can't let any skillset go to waste, don't give a fuck if you think it's boring, efficiency demands it, you should understand this better than anyone. You've the potential for so much and you hide it and everyone just lets you get away with it because it's easier to pretend you don't understand the math and you don't understand how to kill a man without feeling a thing, you're ruthless and nobody's ever told you it's a strength, have they?"

He pulls Sheppard back, one arm wrapping around his chest, pushing impossibly deeper even as his whole-body trembles against Sheppard's. "I could do so much with you," he says, and Sheppard comes, untouched.

After, lying together on damp sheets, Sheppard says, "Was that your real accent? This makes so much more sense, I've been trying to pin down what the fuck your accent is trying to do for months."

*

Sheppard gets injured on a trading mission -- the sort of injury that sounds and feels horrifying but isn't actually as serious as it seems because alien technology -- and nobody on Earth even knows it's happened until a week has passed. It's only then that Rush hears, through an extraordinarily tangled and rotting grapevine, that something may have happened to Sheppard and he's either dead, gained super-powers, or been traded for grain. A judicious bit of hacking pulls up the vague three paragraph email that is apparently what qualifies as an official report from Atlantis now-a-days. Once he's confirmed that Sheppard is alive and home and lacking any exciting new abilities, Rush doesn't think about him again for a month.

Not entirely accurate. He tries thinking about him on week three, just as an experiment, and then he's on his kitchen floor hyperventilating and shaking, so he doesn't do that again.

Sheppard texts him the next time he's on-world, clearly well-healed after five weeks of whatever Sheppard considers convalescence.

'they want to talk abt using Pegasus planets as weapon testing grounds; pls come rescue asap thx'

Rush responds 'Turn on your phone's auto-correct features, you look like an idiot', but he still drives over to the Mountain and loiters in the unassigned parking until Sheppard appears.

"You haven't actually run away from a meeting, have you?" Rush asks.

"Like you can talk. Come on, come on, let's go."

Sheppard's skin is a little pale, and he's sweating by the time he's settled himself into the passenger seat. He's still got a band aid on his upper arm. Rush maneuvers out of the parking lot then steps hard on the accelerator, shifting gears smoothly and leaving the SGC behind them in what would have been a cloud of dust if it hadn't rained earlier in the day.

He doesn't say anything as he drives, ignores Sheppard's one abortive suggestion that they grab lunch. Even breaking every speed limit he can get away with his mind has plenty of space to hyper-focus on the band-aid, and the paleness of Sheppard's skin, the exhaustion clear in the set of his shoulders and the determinedly straight lift of the chin. Rush is thinking about lemon floor cleaner and stale coffee, day-time television and the squeak of wheeled carts on tile, chocolate pudding and plastic cups of Ginger Ale, IV lines and carparks that ran higher costs on his credit card than his tasteless cafeteria lunches. Rush is nauseous, but he is not having an anxiety attack and Sheppard is sitting beside him in his familiar uniform, not even smelling like antiseptic.

Rush is fine.

Back at his flat, Sheppard perches on the cinder blocks that serve as Rush's desk/sofa/dining table/storage shelf, and Rush goes into the kitchen so he can pace without having to see Sheppard out of the corner of his eye.

"You know, I'm fully healed up," Sheppard says, and the only thing that makes Rush less irritated at his inability to tell if it's a reassurance or a come-on is that Sheppard probably doesn’t know himself.

"I'm sure you are," Rush calls back. The calking around the taps in his sink is starting to peel off, and he has to fold his hands behind his back as to not start picking at it.

"Obviously I don't exactly have the safest job in the universe, but I've got a pretty good team of doctors ready to clean up after me," Sheppard says.

Rush grits his teeth. "Christ's sake, I'm not lying awake at night concerned about your wellbeing."

"Of course not," Sheppard says, obviously not believing him.

Rush paces back over to the door to the main room. "I don't do hospitals," he says, shortly. "I'm pleased enough that you're doing well, but I'm fully cognizant of the risks inherent in your chosen lifestyle. It doesn't bother me."

Rush imagines the fucking on-base psychologist would have a field day with the fact that he's more comfortable imagining Sheppard being shot in some backwater Pegasus village than he is imagining Sheppard in a hospital bed hooked up to fluids and monitors.

"Cool," says Sheppard, then stares silently at Rush for a long moment, thoughtful. "I'm ordering pizza. How many kitchen gods will I need to pray to make anything other than coffee appear in your kitchen?"

"I've got a lemon," Rush offers, helpfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I haven't been able to stop thinking about this pairing all week so hopefully now I can be free.  
> I'm on [tumblr](http://thought-42.tumblr.com)


End file.
